I raised my niece on my own — eight years later, she pointed at a woman in the next beach changing cubicle and whispered, “Aunty, look… she has my mark”

keep her safe while I sorted out what was happening.

“But Aunty Jess…”

“Stay with Andy.”

“Ruthie, now. Please.”

My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I was already moving.

The woman in the blue cover-up was heading toward the boardwalk.

“Wait!” I called.

She didn’t turn.

“Ruthie, now. Please.”

I pushed past a group of teenagers with towels slung over continue reading …